


the flowers of my heart speak to you

by tenderwrites



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, M/M, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 19:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13887372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderwrites/pseuds/tenderwrites
Summary: There were a lot of things to process, but the fact that Jane was going to die soon was never easy to accept. Now, Jane has two choices. He either has to cut off the flowers bountifully growing in his lungs, or wait to meet his life's end. Going through surgery has never crossed his mind, however, so he prepares himself to die of asphyxiation.Things don't turn out the way he expects them to, and he finds himself realising some truths he should have realised long ago.





	the flowers of my heart speak to you

**Author's Note:**

> I sat down one day with a hot beverage and was browsing through Tumblr's #guro tag, when it randomly occurred to me that virtually no one has done a Hanahaki Disease AU fic or drawing for my favourite TF2 ship. So! *claps hands* I decided to write my own on a whim, and here we are with 4000+ words. Fantastic. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! This is my first time writing for the AU, anyway.

There was a stunning lack of greenery or shrubbery in and around the sweat-stained battlefield, in the centre of the mixture of chaos and blood being shed as the day progressed. In each of the respective mercenaries’ countries, however, there of course was the scenery that they grew up with. For Jane’s go-to drinking buddy and watchful partner, there was the rows and rows of Scottish bluebells and cross-leaved heaths as the young boy found himself getting lost in after each calamity that took place.

For himself, there was the stalks of grain that stretched for miles on end in his home sweet home of Midwest, America, where he would spend his adolescence roaming, exploring and running, until his hot-blooded heart would grow weary and he would return to the house to rest. He would never forget those joyful times spent with his sister, but as of now, he would be stationed in Teufort to earn his keep, until Mann Company no longer required his old and frail services.

That was what he had expected of his life a few years down the road.

So, when he woke up one morning to find himself choking on something soft in his mouth, he sat down on the floor, panting from fright and eyes wide open to stare at the... _thing_ that took residence inside his mouth. It was a slightly soaked and breathtakingly beautiful lotus blooming in the pit of his palm, her filaments ready to greet him in the morning. Toothbrush forgotten on the tiles of the floor, he was scared out of his mind and heaved a few deep breaths to compose himself, wild thoughts running through his mind.

When he was scared earlier on in his life, the precious bosom of his mother would always be there to comfort him, her elegant hands running through his hair and soothing him to slumber, his dreams overtaking his possessed mind and bringing to worlds beyond.

 _Mom, what do I do now?_ Ragged sobs broke the silence of the bathroom, as fear filled Jane’s heart and clenched it tight in its grasp. 

\---

“...Ah! Here it is.” A very intellectual-looking Tavish with a thick, ancient book in his lap stopped at a page adorned with exquisite flowers and ran his finger over it. Jane was almost convinced that the very book itself hid a demon within itself. “Hanahaki Disease, an illness born of one-sided love or affection. The victim will cough up petals of flowers representing the other party. It can be removed by surgery, but the feelings go away with the flowers.”

“Hana...what now?” Jane sank into his seat, the freshly-coughed up lotus sitting on the table beside him. He was sure that the charming flower was staring maliciously at him, as if the fault for the flower appearing was all his own. The tightness in his chest wasn’t going away, and it was a literal pain to have while trying to do battle.

“Hana _haki_. It can also be cured by having your feelings returned.” Pulling out a notebook, Tavish wrote the essential information and snapped the book shut, putting down his pencil to let his hand rest on the table. His hickory brown eyes were full of confusion, yet it was plainly obvious that he was worried for Jane. The American hated being the subject of pity and grunted dismissively, opting to look at the nearby wall instead.

“Don’t look at me like that. How would I know why I have this stupid disease?” Jane barked harshly, ignoring the seemingly endless eyes around the room that were mocking and laughing at him. _Seriously, who falls in love on a battlefield?_ The only form of crush allowed was to be directed towards the enemies’ faces, not for some unnamed individual that had embedded themselves in Jane’s subconscious!

Tavish gave a great big sigh. “Well, I guess we could start with who your ‘one true love’ is. Who is it, Jane?”

“I...what?”

“The apple of your eye. The person you have _feelings_ for?” Tavish emphasised again, his eyebrows drooping to furrow in barely concealed anxiety.

“...I have no idea.”

The Scotsman slumps backwards into his chair, pulls out a bottle out of the nearby fridge and gulps two mouthfuls. Then, he uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, which is frowning in desperation and concern. Things had just taken a turn for the worst, and even with Tavish’s expendable knowledge of the supernatural and occult, the two of them were going absolutely nowhere.

“Okay, lad. I have an idea, but you’ll have to endure it in order to find out who you have feelings for. Sound good to you?”

“What do I have to do?”

“You just have to relax and look at our teammates carefully. I can’t guarantee that it will work, but it’s worth a try. You in?” Then, as if in mutual agreement, a hand is extended to Jane, the warm and comfortable fingers of his friend appearing to be inviting. In the whole of the recreation room, there is no one but the two of them. They have been best buddies since they’ve met, and the lone hand that is offering Jane closure is in front of him. Relief washes over the American and he relaxes his tense posture, cracks a small smile and grabs Tavish’s hand as if they are embracing.

“Yes.”

“Great! I’ll go gather the lot of them. Stay here and eat something first if you’re hungry.” His voice trails off as he exits the room, a newfound twinkle of hope in his eyes as he flashes a toothy grin and a thumbs up at Jane. Then, Jane is alone again, and he is reminded of the bathroom in the morning. Shuffling over to the fridge, he opens it and is met with a rush of cool air, easing his aching muscles from the day’s work. Despite his growling stomach, a beer is what he carries with him back to his seat as he waits, anticipatedly, for his 8 other teammates to come streaming through the small door. If conditions apply, of course.

Who knows what Ludwig might be up to in that dingy lab of his.

He smiles fondly at the memory and takes a swig of the beer, the freezing cold liquid burning his throat. This makes him cough a little more violent than he would expect; the pain in his chest does not relent. The grain stalks in his memories seem like a blur now, and as much as he tries to concentrate and remember, he cannot recall those times anymore.

_Your brain is damaged._

He jolts upward from his chair, mouth hanging open as he searches the room for the person that the professional but trained voice belongs to. The chair falls with a slam to the floor, denting it and shocking Jane out of his daydream. Slowly but surely, he picks up the chair and pats it, his eyes blown wide and the beer spilling onto the table drop, by drop.

Groaning, he sits back down and ignores the wasted beer on the table. He does not notice the pale petals of a disfigured lotus on the floor.

\---

Disgruntled, confused and annoyed.

Those were the main expressions on each of the mercenaries’ faces, as they sat across from a very distressed Jane and waited for him to make some decision they didn’t even know about. Sure, accompanying him was fun and some would even go as far to say that he was a joy to have around, but it was currently night time and quickly approaching 1 am at night. Some of them were yawning and grumbling, while the nocturnal ones were buzzing with excitement.

“Herr Demo, how about you start with why you’ve all dragged us here in the middle of the goddamn night?” Medic snapped brashly, crossing his arms together in a fit of pure anger. There were a few issues he needed to attend to in his lab, and one of those issues presented itself as another one of ‘medicine’s advancements’, so whatever the Scotsman wanted, he had better say it quickly.

“Well, to put it honestly, Sol’s sick. This isn’t any form of normal disease, however. So, I’ve asked you all to come here and maybe we can find something that can help him.” Tavish placed a reassuring hand on Jane’s shoulder, grabbing his attention away from the spilt beer on the table.

“Have you found the cure for it yet?” A rough Australian voice breaks the momentary silence, as Mundy eases himself into a chair. A mug of decaf is in front of him and he appears to be fully awake, as if the hours of the night do nothing to faze him.

“How about we send him through respawn?” Yawning, Scout plops down into the chair next to Mundy and struggles to keep his eyes open, all for the sake of this intervention in the depths of night. The Australian rolls his eyes and saunters over to the fridge, throwing a can of _Bonk!_ to Scout’s outstretched hand. He mutters a ‘thanks’ and cracks it open with some effort.

“No good. Respawn just sends you back in a state to how you were before battle.” The orange helmet is placed on the table, revealing the bald head of Engineer himself. Rarely is the helmet ever taken off, proving the aforementioned problem to be a serious one.

As all of them remain silent in thought, Jane suddenly coughs, sending more bloody petals to drift to the ground, liberating everyone from the still of the night.

“Are those…”

“Petals?!” All of them gasp in unison as they crowd over to Jane’s side of the table, getting a good look at the amassed lotus petals on the floor. The only exception is Pyro, who makes a surprised noise behind his mask and picks up one of the petals, getting a good look at it. The American feels as if his throat is on fire and slams his fist on the table reflexively, startling everyone in the room. The beer bottle rolls and drops to the floor, shattering into pieces and forcing everyone to look away. Tavish sighs in resignment and kicks at the petals on the floor, scattering them like flowers in the wind.

“Yes, petals. It’s because Jane has Hanahaki Disease, an illness where you have unrequited love for someone. I don’t know how of all places, he developed feelings for someone in a bloody warzone. It can be cured by removing the flowers in his lungs, but his feelings will go away.” At this, Medic perks up, a barely concealed grin on his face. He was the only named medical individual around this place, and the thought of seeing flowers in a set of lungs sends a pang of excitement shooting through his body.

“I know what you’re thinking, Medic, and no, we need Sol’s permission first.” The ex-doctor frowns, and heads towards the door with his shoulders sagging. Might as well continue with the day’s work. He says, gently, “If you ever decide on surgery, Herr Soldier, don’t be afraid to ask. We all want the best for you here.”

The rest of the mercenaries look at Medic’s retreating form.

“What did you call us here for?” Misha mutters under his breath.

“I want to know who he has feelings for.” There is a note of finality in Tavish’s voice, which stuns most of the people in his vicinity. A wave of silence washes over them yet again, which makes Jane fidget in his seat. Aside from the choking feeling in his chest, there is a pit of dread in his stomach that makes him nauseous. He decides that they shouldn’t go on with this prissy nonsense anymore and clears his throat.

“...Enough with this already! I don’t have ‘feelings’ for any of my comrades here. I look at all of you and you’re still the same old people I see.” Jane grunts impatiently and pushes himself up from his seat. Patting his chest, he breaks into a small smirk and faces his buddies, friends, and teammates. “We still have enemies to fight tomorrow, alright? Stop being so depressed over me. I’ll get better soon.”

“That’s the spirit!” Tavish returns his smile and pats him on the back, spreading the pain in his lungs and making him splutter repeatedly. Jane’s teammates freeze in horror and watches as he doubles over in pain and kneels on the floor. This time, the petals are gone and a whole flower with its bloody stem comes tumbling out of his mouth. The only difference is that Jane does not stop coughing afterwards and he gasps for air, a worried and guilt-ridden Tavish beside him slapping his back and the faces of his teammates aghast with fear and dismay.

After a while, the coughing finally slows to a halt and Jane heaves a melancholy sigh, his hands trembling and his surroundings spinning.

“...Jane? Are you okay?” Tavish stammers quietly, his mouth wide open from the sudden scare. He stares at the blood-stained lotus and winces, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from the nightmare inducing flowers on the linoleum floor.

“...Tav?” Jane rasps out, his voice strained and haggard like an old woman’s. “What is happening to me?”

Before Tavish can formulate a semi-acceptable answer, the gentle sound of a cloaking device echoes throughout the recreational room and reveals a slightly off-put Spy, his suit still impeccable and his eyes still weary. He blows smoke out of his mouth, his slender fingers wrapped around one of his expensive, imported cigarettes. Any other day Jane might have laughed and insulted his ‘sissy’ tastes, but trying to speak now would just hurt his throat.

“...What a beautiful flower.” He mumbles, picking it up to admire its loveliness. The blood on its stem is forgotten as Spy detaches it from its flower, the snapping sound ringing loud and clear in Jane’s ears. The hammering in his heart cannot be mistaken for anything else, as he scrambles to his feet and stands up straight in lieu of a very dashing gentleman in front of him. Jane curses mentally, hoping that his helmet will hide much of his reddened cheeks from the world.

Then, as if nothing has happened at all, he leaves the room with the flower clasped in his hands. The clicking noises of his shoes trails away until it fades to complete silence.

Tavish notices the change in his friend’s demeanour almost immediately and brings a hand to his forehead, kneading it in irritation. 

“Well, I guess now we all know who Soldier has the hots for.”

“Shut the fuck up, Scout.”

\---

A brand new day begins and the pale, yellow bars of sunlight filter through the blinds veiling the world from Jane. At first, he stretches and hits the alarm clock to stop the beeping, as he would do any other day. Then, the sharp pain in his lungs hits him like a brick wall and he quickly reaches for the bucket placed by the side of the bed by Tavish and lets it all out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after the convulsing ceases.

He stares down into the bucket.

The flowers combined with blood fill about a quarter of the bucket. The stench of iron disgusts him and he pries it away from his face, lifting himself off the bed and into the bathroom. Before throwing the flowers into the toilet, he glances into the mirror and is greeted with a sub-par version of himself.

His eyes look sunken and there is a little more stubble from before, just below his mouth and around his ears. Determination overwhelms him and he snatches the razor from the sink top, shaving off every little bit of hair from his face and leaving it completely bare.

He was not going to make a fool of himself again. He was going to perform in battle, whether he liked it or not.

Slipping on a set of clean uniform, he fixes his beloved helmet on his head and presses his fist to his heart, mentally promising himself that he will make the best of his numbered days and have as much worth as he did before, then he can die with absolutely no regrets.

He marches out of his room into the hallway, prepared to breathe in the raw scent of early morning air and midnight dew.

His own body is an enemy to him now, and in order to defeat it proper, Jane must stay motivated and massacre as many BLU vermin as he can seek out.

\---

The whitewashed walls and the unmistakable smell of wood engulf Jane once again, as he stares open-eyed at the rocket launcher in his hands and at his own hands. After some recollection of how he was killed, he drops the weapon in his grasp and stands stock still in the position he was spawned in.

He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand a lot of things.

Why was it difficult to soar through the air as he had always done?

Why did he run slower than normal, away from the enemy’s line of sight?

Why was he...not a soldier anymore?

Most importantly, why did he have to fall for a fancy-talking, stuck-up, and sarcastic buffoon such as Spy?

He cradled his head in his arms and felt the tears come out of his eyes, but there was no sadness felt whatsoever. He was shaking from the sobs that wrecked his body, but all of it felt like air coursing past his body. All of it was meaningless. Why should he try to be his best when all his body did was drag him down even more?

The next moment, he finds himself being flung to the floor by the sheer force of a punch being thrown at his face. His assailant grabs the front of his collar and lets loose a scream in his face.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re talking about, you blockhead? What kind of soldier gives up so easily?” A rich Scottish voice jolts him out of his internal monologuing and he realises that he has been voicing out his thoughts for the past minute and that he is not alone in the room.

“I don’t need _you_ to tell me that.” Jane growls, the acid apparent in his tone of voice. He throws a punch at Tavish but it misses and hits the air. The demolitions expert wrestles Jane to the ground and punches him again, breaking a vein in his nose and fresh blood spills out of the American’s nose, making him hiss in pain. The fire in his soul is ignited once again and he breaks free of Tavish’s iron grip, dragging him out of spawn and slams him against a wall. In his blind rage, he throws multiple punches and despite not all of them landing on his friend’s face, his violence serves the purpose of releasing the bottled up frustration and sadness he had kept hidden for so long.

“...Satisfied?” Tavish breathes out, a smile replacing the frown on his face beneath the blood and sweat shed.

“Very.” Jane laughs heartily and for a brief but blissful moment, he forgets the lingering pain in his upper body. They share a bittersweet silence, although both of them are injured and in desperate need of medical attention. In the wake of their mutual violence, a delicate lotus lies amongst the blood spilled and the desolation, forgotten.

“You’re insane.” The both of them say in surprising coordination and they lean on each other for support, all while they shuffle back to spawn with their heads held high and their fists in the air.

Jane will be terribly sorry to leave his dearest friend behind in the dust.

\---

It is nearing the evening of the day, and the pale orange and pink clouds paint the sky like a cluster of flowers blooming prettily. Instead of joining the commotion in the recreational room, Jane opts to sit outside, close to where Sniper’s camper van is situated. There is an torn newspaper scrap in his hand and although some of the words have faded from use, the block letters which scream ‘Victory! Nazis Reveal Surrender To Western Allies, Russia’ are still clear. The bucket which sits beside him contains lotuses and they fill the rusted metal bucket to the brim. He cannot tell which is flower, and which is blood anymore.

He thinks that this doesn’t really matter all that much. Everyone dies eventually, and some people go faster than others. It’s all God intended to be, he assumes. He won’t be going in a very striking fashion, but he’s decided that his death does not need to be blown up like some royalty he’s seen in the news.

Jane chuckles to himself wistfully. At least he got to punch a few Nazis in their snail-like faces and haughty expressions.

Normally, he would be left alone with his thoughts once he was out here, basking in the evening glow, but Jane feels as though there are a pair of trained eyes focusing on his every move and emotion. He hates being observed like an animal in an enclosure, so he sets the gory bucket aside and sighs tiredly.

“Spy, I know you’re here watching me. Stop being a sneaky bastard and just come out and talk to me.” As the Frenchman comes into view, Jane swears that he can see his teammate’s face go slack with shock for a short second, before adjusting his tie and leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.

“As you will, _mon cher_.” Spy smiles, a little too sadly for Jane’s liking.

“And that’s another thing. Stop with the french, nobody can understand you.” His eyebrows wrinkle together, displeasure stark on the American’s face. That was just another one of his quirks, one which would get under Jane’s nerves and envelop it in one giant cobweb, until he couldn’t breathe and it felt like he was underwater. Spy was one of those people that was an enigma; nobody could get through to him unless it concerned him. It was understandable, really.

He was a spy. He was meant to be non-existent, a face off the earth.

That was the one thing that irritated Jane the most. Why shut yourself off from kinship, friendship or even companionship? Spy must feel so lonely all the time; he regularly steered clear of his teammates and smoked to the tune of classical music all the time in his own room.

“...Why do you like being so alone all the time?” Jane asks him, picking a particularly small flower from the bucket and picking off its petals one by one at a time.

“I am a spy, Soldier. I cannot be together with all of you so much. It poses a danger to all of our lives.” Spy answers matter-of-factly, but Soldier hears it as an incarnate insult to him and his friends.

“Stop it!” He rips away at the top of his lungs, startling the crows sitting on top of the chain link fence separating Teufort from the rest of the world. Before he realises it, Jane is holding his teammate against the wall by the force of his hand. Except, Tavish is nowhere to be seen and the only expression on Spy’s face is of hurt and white-hot anger, nothing like the playful fights he has on weekends.

“What do _you_ know about me? Do you even have any idea of what the word ‘lonely’ means?” Spy screeches, dragging his gloves against the rough skin of Soldier’s fist. He kicks adamantly at the shorter man’s legs, but Jane does not relent and continues to clench his teeth at him.

“Of course I know what it means! Every time that I don’t see you with the others, I always go and look for you! And what do I find? You, crying by yourself, in that stupid room of yours with your dumb cigarettes and feelings! You think I don’t understand? I am going to _die,_ Spy. If anyone should understand loneliness, I think I have a pretty good impression of it! Nobody is going to die with me, and I have to face this disease of mine the best I can. So, if you say one word about me not understanding you, you better shut your maggot mouth and sit down and listen, because _I_ won’t allow you to be alone ever again.”

Jane does not expect a whole speech to come belting out of his mouth, and he quickly releases his hand from Spy’s suit, a blush spreading over his face.

“...I-I mean...just--”

“You’re right.”

“I...what?” Jane stops backpedaling and bores his eyes into Spy’s. Wait, when did his helmet come off?

Without his prized possession of a helmet to shield him from the world, Jane can now see Spy in his raw beauty. With the light of the evening to cast shadows over them, he sees the steel blue eyes and the long, angular nose, as well as the mostly covered hair of his teammate. Soldier wishes he could run his fingers through the soft-looking hair and cradle his head in his lap, as well as whisper sweet nothings to him in the dead of night, where even the most of liveliest of crickets have drifted to slumber.

He can feel the silk of Spy’s gloves on his face and the sturdy jawline of his, as Jane is met with a dizzying rush of truths all at the same time. He realises that there is another pair of lips on his, in which they are slightly cracked and taste of bitter nicotine and strangely enough, baby’s breath. On top of that, the sharp pain in his chest has disappeared like a nightmare after waking up, and he no longer feels like letting loose of it all and liberating himself from the torture.

Lastly, he realises that his feelings aren’t so unrequited after all.

As soon as his face is yet again exposed to the warm, soft breeze of evening, he breaks into the widest of smiles. Even though Spy is now nowhere to be seen, Jane knows. He knows that he doesn't have to endure the pain of  _Hanamaki_ anymore, and he can continue to gib enemies for days on end until he is satisfied. Together with all his teammates and best buddy Tavish, he can again destroy all that is evil and BLU in hot-blooded glory and star-spangled splendor, without some interfering flowers to worry about.

And possibly, maybe, he can advance his relationship with Spy into the depths of something unbeknownst to him, and add some kind of value to his simple but fulfilling life. 

Looking down at the bucket, he gives it a great big enthusiastic kick. The flowers drop over the ledge he is standing on, displaying a show of renewed life and blood. 

After all, what was life without a little bit of violence? 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> lotus -- mystery, truth  
> baby's breath -- innocence, purity
> 
> And yes, that newspaper clipping is a real one. I looked it up on Google :P


End file.
